


Freak

by asamandra



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Prompt Fill, Rape, Victim Blaming, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asamandra/pseuds/asamandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a new agent, Clint gets a handler who hates him. On an undercover mission, the handler forces Clint to have sex with his mark in order to fulfill mission objectives...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt fill for a prompt on avengerkink. You can find the text of the prompt and the link in the end notes of the last chapter. Why not here as usual? I think it reaveals too much... ;)

“Another new Agent, sir? Why do I always get the new guys?” Hanson huffed when he looked at the file in his hand.

“Since when do I have to explain myself to you, Agent Hanson?” Fury asked and raised one brow.

“Sir, I...” He started again but Director Fury rose and placed his hands flat on his desk.

“Agent Hanson. Your team needs a sniper, Agent Barton is the best. He's currently at the range with Agent James.”

“Yes, sir.” He spat and left Fury's office. He skimmed through his file while heading to the range. Circus? That guy came from the circus? Great. Chose to work for us to avoid jail. Yeah, it's getting even better. He killed his own brother. Inspiring confidence. Limited undercover applicability because... “Hey, have a care!” He yelled at the junior Agent who just collided with him.

“I'm sorry, sir. I haven't seen you.” He stammered even though it was Hanson's fault, he had his nose in the new guy's file.

Hanson snorted, shook his head and turned to go to the elevator. He opened the file again. Bow. That freak uses a bow? He might as well throw stones. In the circus they called him 'the greatest marksman in the world'. Well, we'll see, he thought. Hanson pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped into the elevator cabin. He punched the button and looked back into the file. Trained in sword fighting, hand-to-hand combat, several martial arts, can throw knives as well, knows parkour, fluent in Russian, French, German, Spanish and Swedish, basics in Italian, Japanese, Cantonese, Farsi, Arabic, Hebrew, Swahili, Portuguese, Norse, Greek and Afrikaans, ambidextrous. At least there's something he can work with and not completely useless like the other three he got, Hanson thought. He can fly Helicopters. Good, maybe they can teach him how to fly a quinjet as well.

Hanson entered the range and saw a guy with James. Short, slim but muscular, blonde and he had a bow in his hand. He just shot three moving targets in three seconds. Damn! He is good, Hanson had to admit. And then he turned to James and smirked and Hanson knew immediately, that he couldn't bear him. That smirk was... too cocky. That guy was good and the problem was, he knew it. 

“James, Agent,” Hanson greeted the two men. 

“Clint Barton,” the new guy introduced himself and held his hand out for Hanson to shake it. He had a strong grip and he could feel the strength this guy had in his hands. 

“I'm Victor Hanson, your new handler,” he said and the guy nodded. Hanson wasn't sure but was that a hint of attitude in his glance? 

He looked at the paper targets beside them. In every one was only one hole. He looked up at James and saw his second in command grin. 

“That was a whole magazine in each target.” Hanson lifted one brow. 

“Show me.” He said and they fixed another paper target. Barton took the Beretta James handed him and shot at the target. A whole magazine and when Hanson finally got the target there was one single hole in it, exactly in the middle. Barton turned around with a smirk on his face and Hanson pressed his lips tight together before he breathed. “Worlds greatest marksman, huh?” He couldn't repress and the other two men could hear his aversion.

“Sir, can I have a word with you?” James asked and went out of earshot. “To get this guy is a lucky strike. He's good! Really good.” he said and Hanson pressed his lips together. “He's not like the others Fury forced on our team.”

“I don't like him. He's... he has this attitude. You've seen it, haven't you?” 

“Yes, sir. But...” 

“For now he's in but I want to get rid of him as soon as possible. He's trouble.” Hanson gritted his teeth. “He has no respect for my authority.” 

“Sir, but...” 

“That's everything for now. Get him a quarter in our block and introduce him to the others.” 

“Yes, sir.” James nodded and Hanson left with the file and the paper target in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

“No... sir.” He said firmly and folded his arms in front of his chest.

“No? Did you...” Hanson turned to James, “Did he just say no?”

“Sir, I...” James started but Hanson interrupted him.

“Who do you think you are, Agent? You don't say no when I give you an order, do you understand me?” He yelled now.

“Agent Hanson, it's in my file. There should be a note that I'm explicitly excluded from this kind of missions. Director Fury said...” 

“Director Fury is not here, Agent Barton. And you do what I say when I say or you'll get a written warning and this would be the second in the one month you're here.” 

“Sir... the probability that the mission will fail is more than ninety percent. It's not only Director Fury, it's...” Barton started.

“Ninety percent? What are you? Maths professor? Don't tell me the odds! Do your job, _Agent_ or go to jail.”

“With all due respect, sir. There are others in this team who...” 

“We're going against Hydra. Those fuckers speak German when they are among themselves. You are, according to your file, fluent. In addition, you are exactly the type of guy their boss prefers. You go undercover or you are out. Your choice.”

“Sir, please. Corrigan is his type as well and I can translate over the comms.” 

“But Corrigan can't speak the language. And the documents you should retrieve are most likely in German and Corrigan can't read the language.” 

“Jones is fluent in German as well, sir.” James chipped in.

“Jones is thirty, brunette and a _woman!_ And Gruber loves his boys young and blonde and _male_ , James.”

“Sir, but...”

“How old are you, Barton?” Hanson asked and glared at Clint.

“Twenty-two, sir.” He answered.

“That's exactly his prey pattern. Young, blonde and pretty. You do this or you're out.” Hanson snarled. James looked at the young man and lifted one brow questioningly. 

“I can not do that. It's... I... I'm not able to perform...” He tried again with a slight desperate hint in his voice. 

“You don't need to perform, all you need to do is to keep your ears open and take it up the ass.” Hanson laughed nasty.

Clint swallowed and licked his lips. “I agreed to work for Shield provided that I don't have to do this kind of mission and...” 

“Okay. You're out. When we're back at base I'll write my report and you're out. They'll send you back to jail. And I need to call HQ, I need another sniper and someone who is able to do a simple undercover mission. I knew you're a loser the moment I got your file, Barton.” Hanson turned and wanted to leave the room when he heard the young man's voice.

“Wait... sir.” 

“What?” He spat and turned back to Barton.

“I...” Clint licked over his lips and wrapped one arm around his body. “Please... don't... don't send me back to jail... I... I agree. I'll do it.” His voice was small and almost broken but Hanson grinned inwardly. He knew how to get what he wanted. He didn't see Clint's shaking hands when he left his room.


	3. Chapter 3

“Okay, Barton. That's the Mark,” Jones said. She stood behind the bar and served him a Gibson. Clint turned around and saw Felix Gruber enter the bar in his hotel. He was about fifty, chubby with a mean streak in his expression, he had very short, dark hair and a properly cut beard. Behind him came three other men. All of them wore similar dark suits and they sat down at a table in the back of the bar. 

_Focus, Barton. You can do that,_ he thought and changed his posture. He leaned against the bar now, casual, one leg on the footrest to accentuate his ass. The light gray suit he wore did the rest.

“Is he looking in our direction?” He asked and Jones nodded slightly. Clint turned a little bit so that Gruber could see him, took the toothpick with the onion and pulled it off with his teeth before he took a small sip of the drink. 

“You have him,” Jones smiled and took the order of another guest. Clint moved his one leg back and put the other one on the footrest and he could see Jones nod slightly, again. 

_“He stares at your ass,”_ he heard Hanson's voice over the comms. The rest of the team was in a hotel room not far away from Gruber's and McMurdo had hacked the security system. They could see everything what happened. 

The waiter came back and talked to Jones and with a smile she placed another Gibson in front of him. Clint stayed in character and looked puzzled and then she pointed in Gruber's direction and Clint turned to him. The man raised his own glass and smiled, or at least he thought he would smile but it looked more like a grimace in Clint's opinion. 

_Stay focused, Barton!_ He took the glass, smiled in Gruber's direction and took a sip, then he mouthed 'Thank you', ate the onion in the same seductive way like the first one and leaned back on the bar, licking over his lips slightly.

_“Let him come to you,”_ Hanson said and Clint fought to hold the casual smile on his face. 

Gruber finally rose and came over to the bar. 

“Thanks for the drink,” Clint said and let his lip twitch slightly.

“You're welcome.” Gruber said and eyeballed him. Clint could feel his eyes literally on his body and he gritted his teeth. “So, what are you doing here, all alone?” He asked and Clint had to bite his lips to not laugh at the hackneyed saying. 

“Celebrating my divorce.” Clint answered and lowered his eyes a second to let him spot his long lashes. 

“What happened?” Gruber asked casually but licked hungrily over his lips.

_“God, you're a real natural. You have him on your hook, Barton. And you've said you can't do that.”_ Hanson chipped in and chuckled.

“Oh, she didn't take it very well that I fucked her brother.” Clint shrugged, bit his lower lip and smiled again. And Gruber started to laugh. Clint once again lowered his eyes for a second and he could see the older man already stripping him with his eyes. 

_Ok, feign interest, Clint,_ he told himself. He cocked his head slightly, licked over his lips and looked him over, then he broadened his tiny smile a bit. 

“So, you want to... celebrate in a more... intimate way?” Gruber asked now. Inwardly Clint sighed. Subtlety apparently wasn't one of the guy's strengths. 

_No, I sure as hell don't want to_ celebrate _with you! That's the very last thing I want,_ Clint thought but then he shrugged and nodded. “Sure, why not.” 

“You have a name?” Gruber finally asked and Clint smiled. 

“Clay. Well, Clayton, but only my mom ever called me Clayton. Everyone else says Clay.” 

Gruber nodded. “My name is Felix.” Clint was surprised. He didn't use a fake name. He emptied his second Gibson and wanted to turn, when one of the men came over to Gruber. 

“Halten sie das für eine gute Idee, Oberst?” he asked and Gruber grinned.

“Ich halte das sogar für eine ausgezeichnete Idee, Hauptmann. Sie haben ihre Befehle. Halten sie sich daran. Und wagen sie es nicht, mich in den nächsten Stunden zu stören.” He looked back at Clint who faked a puzzled look. 

“I'm sorry, he doesn't speak your language. I just told him that I'm unavailable for the next few hours.” Gruber explained. 

“Oberst, bitte...” the man started again.

“Verflucht, Fischer. Alles läuft nach Plan. Sie drei werden doch mal für ein paar Stunden ohne Aufsicht auskommen? Die Sprengsätze sind platziert und bis die Delegation eintrifft können wir sowieso nichts tun. Also passen sie auf, dass niemand die Koffer findet, halten sie sich bereit den Botschafter zu entführen und stören sie mich einfach nicht.” He snarled and the other man finally nodded. 

“Wie sie meinen.” And he sounded really unhappy. 

Clint took this chance to move a few steps away murmured quietly, only for Hanson to hear, “They have bombs, they want to kidnap an ambassador, didn't say which one.” 

_“When?”_ Hanson asked.

“Didn't say that but soon I assume. Said something about just a few hours.” Clint murmured again but then he saw Gruber come over to him.

“Everything okay?” Clint asked and looked questioningly at the sourly looking man at the bar.

“Yes, let's go.” Gruber smiled and led him to the elevator. 

_It's getting serious. Focus, Barton. And breathe!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation
> 
> \- Do you think this is a good idea, Oberst?  
> \- Actually I think it's an excellent idea, Hauptmann. You have you orders. Stick to them. And don't you dare to interrupt me in the next hours.  
> \- Oberst, please...  
> \- Dammit, Fischer. Everything goes according to plan. Don't you get along for a few hours without supervision? The bombs are in position and until the delegation arrives we can't do anything. Pay attention that no one finds the briefcases, stay alert to kidnap the ambassador and do not interrupt me.  
> \- If you say so.
> 
> The military rank "Oberst" is comparable to a "Colonel" and "Hauptmann" to "Captain".


	4. Chapter 4

_Don't touch me, don't touch me, goddammit, don't touch me_ , Clint thought when Gruber led him to his hotel room with his hand on Clint's back. He breathed, in and out, concentrated and tried to not let his smile slip off of his face. 

_“Don't forget, Barton, we need to know which ambassador and when.”_ He heard Hanson's voice. He coughed one time, the sign that he understood.

“So, I get it that you're not from here. May I ask where are you from?” Clint asked casually while walking beside the man.

“Hannover, Germany.” Gruber answered.

“Cool. Never been in Germany. Is it nice there?” Clint looked at him now.

“You should come and visit it eventually.”

“Yeah. Maybe I'll do that.” He nodded. They arrived at his hotel room and the older man took his key card to open the door.

“You want something to drink?” Gruber asked when he closed the door of his room behind them. 

Clint shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He followed the older man into his room and looked around, not too blatant, but curious, naturally. “Nice.” He said, when he discovered Gruber watching him. 

“It's okay. It's a hotel room.” The older man shrugged and opened the bar. “Whiskey? Vodka? Tequila? Beer?” He asked and looked hungrily at the young man. 

“Beer is okay.” Clint said and smiled when he took the bottle and it took all his willpower not to flinch back when Gruber's hand touched his. He uncapped the bottle and took a long sip and licked over his lips and the greedy touch in Gruber's expression increased. 

_“Come on, you need to loosen yourself.”_ Hanson whispered into his ear and Clint loosened his tie and slipped out out his jacket. And he could see the older man lick over his lips and smile. 

“You seem tense,” he said with a husky voice and stepped behind Clint. He closed his eyes, swallowed and when he felt the older man's hand's on his shoulders he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“It was a long day,” he lied and forced himself to relax a little bit. He lowered his head to give the other man better access but tiny voice didn't stop screaming _Stop! Don't touch me!_

The older man started to knead Clint's shoulder and it actually felt good and he hated him all the more for it when he caught himself making approving noises. 

_“You purr like a kittycat, Barton.”_ Hanson chuckled and Clint swallowed once again. Then he felt the older man's hand reaching around him, opening his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt. _No! Don't! Don't touch me!_ The voice in Clint's head rampaged but he ignored it, turned and forced a smile on his face and he hoped that it looked seductively. But when he saw the gleam in Gruber's eyes he knew that he had him. 

“So, you don't want to... get a little bit more... comfortable?” Clint smiled and lowered his eyes for a second before he looked up at the older man and he saw him swallow. 

“Sure. I'll be right back.” He said and left the room. Clint waited till he closed the door of what had to be the bathroom and then headed to the briefcase on the coffee table. It wasn't locked and he opened it. 

“There are floor plans and construction manual for a bomb as it seems.” he murmured quietly. 

_“The floor plans... can you see which building?”_

“Seems like a hotel. Not this one. He comes back.” Clint closed the briefcase in high speed, lounged himself back onto the couch invitingly and opened his shirt to the waistband. Gruber frowned when he wasn't at the bar but when he saw him so alluring on the couch his smile got predatory. He only wore his undergarments and a dressing gown. 

“You want to come?” He asked and held his hand out for Clint to take. 

“Sure.” Clint pressed out and tried to sound excited when he took his hand and let him help him up. Gruber held his hand and led him to the bedroom. 

_“That's it, Barton. When the old lecher is worn out you can take a closer look.”_ Hanson whispered and Clint coughed once again one time.

The sound of the closing door was one of the worst sounds Clint ever heard. He swallowed again and was grateful, that Gruber stood behind him. He made one step into the room when he felt the old man's hands on his shoulders again and this time they got under his shirt and he stripped him out of the fabric. 

“Nice,” he murmured and placed a kiss on Clint's neck and he had to bite his lips to not scream. And then he felt his hands on him, on his naked skin, roaming over his chest and his arms from behind and he felt, that the man was close, too close. He reached up and touched his hands and tried not to break them. 

“You are a pretty guy, Clay.” Gruber murmured and his hands moved down to the waistband of his pants. _No! Nononononono!_ His breath sped up and Clint licked his lips when he felt him open the button.

_“Come on, Barton, stop stalling! Get the fag in the sack.”_ Hanson mocked and giggled about his bad rhyme. 

_You can do this! It's just sex! Concentrate and do it! It's not... It's nothing, just sex!_ Clint turned and placed a shy smile on his face, shoved his hands under the fabric of Gruber's dressing gown and stripped him out of it. The older man pressed his body against Clint's and he could feel his boner through his boxers. _Concentrate, you need to get a hard-on or you blow your cover!_ He needed time. With a smile he guided the older man to the bed and shoved him down. He placed small kisses over his hairy chest, bit his nipples slightly and wormed the first groans out of him. 

_“I knew you had it in you, Barton.”_ Hanson's voice sounded a little rough right now.

With a forced lecherous smirk Clint shoved Gruber's boxers down and took the older man's dick in his hand. 

“Oh yes,” Gruber moaned and let his head fall back. Clint took another deep breath and opened his mouth. 

_“Do him, Barton. I've seen your cocksucker lips. I bet you can take him down to the root.”_ Clint licked over the head of Gruber's cock before he took him in his mouth. He forced his tongue to lick over it and then he descended and the older man groaned loudly.

_“Oh my god, do you hear those noises?”_ Hanson giggled again.

He forced himself to suck the guys cock and the man's moans got frantic when he finally stopped him.

“Stop, Clay. I want to fuck you.” He breathed and Clint fought to show him an eager expression on his face. 

“Yeah, I'd like that.” He grinned and the voice in his head yelled _No! No! Don't touch me! You can do this, Clint! No, don't touch me! Don't! Concentrate, Clint. It's not him. It's just sex. It doesn't mean anything. No! No! No! Please don't!_

Gruber grabbed Clint's hips and turned him around, he stayed on his hands and knees and the older man shoved Clint's pants over his hips together with his boxers and his hand caressed his buttocks. He helped him out of the pants and Clint grabbed his own dick to simulate his eagerness and to hide that he was still flaccid. Gruber's thumbs spread his cheeks and teased his entrance and Clint could mask the panicked sound as moan. 

_“And you've said you can't do that.”_ Hanson chuckled again. 

Clint heard the other man open the foil of a condom and then he felt something cold and wet at his hole. Gruber didn't waste time and prepare him, he just shoved in. _Godnopleasestop! Hurtshurtshurtshurts! Stop, please, stop!_ Clint moaned in pain but with great effort he managed to let it sound as if he'd enjoy it. He leaned his head down onto his arms and bit into his hand to not scream out loud.

_No, stop! Please, stop! I'll be good, daddy, please don't hurt me, please daddy, don't!_ He moved his body, forced himself to relax to ease the pain and then he heard Hansons's voice again, _“You're not the worthless piece of shit I thought you'd be!”_ he giggled. 

“Nooo!” Clint yelled. _Shut up, Clint. You're just a worthless piece of shit, at least there's one thing you can do!_

“Stop! Daddy, I'll be good, stop hurting me, I'll be good!” he started to wail and fought against Gruber's grip. 

“What the fuck!” The older man spat.

_“Barton! The fuck is wrong with you! Fuck! Jones, McMurdo! Get in...”_ He didn't hear what Hanson rambled because Gruber had grabbed him and Clint struggled against his hold, he kicked the older man and he lost his earpiece. 

“Scheiße! Scheiße, gottverfluchte Scheiße!” Gruber cursed and backhanded Clint. He fell down to the floor and the older man dived to his nightstand and grabbed his comms.

“Fischer, sofort aufbrechen! Plan B! Plan B! Sofort loslegen!” He yelled and Clint scrambled away from him and into the corner of the room. Gruber heard the door getting kicked in and reached for a gun and shot through the closed door. Clint pressed his hands over his head and pulled his legs up to his body. “No, no, no, daddy, I'll be good, daddy, don't hurt me, daddy,” he mumbled repeatedly and started to rock. 

Gruber took cover behind an armchair but when Hanson and James came in they shot at him and the older man managed to injure Hanson but got shot in the next second. James left the bedroom and headed back to the living room and Hanson went over to the still mumbling Clint. He pulled him up and yelled at him, “What the fuck is wrong with you, you freak?” He shook him but Clint only stared at him wide-eyed and when James came back and shook his head Hanson turned around violently. “She's dead, you freak! And it's your fault!” James wanted to pull Hanson away but the senior Agent turned around once again and hit Clint. 

He felt the impact, felt his head collide with the wall behind him and then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His cursing is not really translatable, it's something like:  
> \- Shit, shit, fucking hell (but... well... not really...)  
> The rest:  
> \- Fischer, leave immediately, plan b, plan b, start immediately!


	5. Chapter 5

The next few hours went by in a blur. He knew that Hanson yelled a lot at him but he just didn't listen and when he came back to himself they were at the safe house. 

“What happened?” He finally asked when he saw James. He was in one of the bedrooms, sitting on the bunk and had his legs drawn to his body. James came in to fetch one of the bags they stashed in this room.

“You freaked out. McMurdo and Carter are dead, Hanson, Jones, Corrigan and me are injured, only Drew and you are unharmed. Gruber is dead, Fischer and the others escaped, the mission went down the drain.” He sounded pissed and Clint could understand him. 

“Sorry.” Clint mumbled.

“Sorry? Sorry, my ass! You goddamn freaked out! They said you're a professional and you started to bawl like a baby. Two good Agents are dead and it's your fault, asshole! Do you know that McMurdo was mother of a two years old boy? It's your fault that Corey never sees his mom again. And Carter wanted to ask his girlfriend to marry him!” 

Clint pressed his head onto his knees and wrapped his hands around it. He felt the pain where his head had hit the wall. It still hurt. 

“James, what are you... Why are you even talking to that freak?” Hanson came and found James in Clint's room. 

Clint, who sat there motionless as long as only James was with him, scrambled up in panic when he heard his superiors voice. _No! Don't touch me!_ he thought.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Hanson looked at Clint as if he saw something disgusting. He shook his head when he saw him hurrying out of the bed and rushing to one corner. James looked suspicious at the fear in his eyes but then sighed and left with Hanson. 

“I called SHIELD. Extraction is in two days.” Hanson said and closed the door behind him.

 _God, what is wrong with you, Clint?_ He thought. 

He felt his pulse, still too fast. His hands wrapped around his body he sank down to the floor. Everything still hurt, his head, his ass. No one had looked after his wounds and now he was stuck in this house with them another two days. He felt a tear forming in his eye and wiped it away angrily. 

His head hurt really bad and he had to do something. At least get some painkillers. There had to be a first aid kit, presumably in the bathroom. 

It took him some time but when the pain in his head didn't get better he finally managed to stand up and walked to the door. He opened it and went out onto a gallery. The safe house was old but not as decrepit as the last two they had to stay in. The gallery went around the living room and he could see James, Hanson, Corrigan and Jones down there, sitting at the table, cleaning their weapons and talking quietly. In the far corner he saw two body bags and he swallowed. McMurdo and Carter. He had liked Terry, she was the only one in the team who accepted him and didn't just see an intruder. 

When he got hit in the back he turned and saw Drew passing by. The corridor was actually broad enough to pass without hitting him but apparently Drew saw this different. Clint deliberated to say something but when he saw Drew's provoking glance over his shoulder he kept his mouth shut. 

He opened the next door to find another bedroom. 

“Stop snooping, asshole.” Hanson bellowed when he looked up and saw him on the gallery and Clint felt again the rush of adrenalin. His voice was like Gruber's hands on his body and he wanted to yell 'Stop touching me' again. 

“Just...” he started, his voice croaking, “just looking for the bathroom.” He managed. Hanson ignored him and it was Jones who finally answered. 

“Next door.” She never looked up at him but he nodded nevertheless. 

The bathroom was small, just a tub at the right side and the john and a sink on the left. He saw the first aid kit beyond the sink and searched for the painkillers but couldn't find any. 

With a curse on his lips he rose and propped his hands beside the mirror and stared in his own face. There had to be painkillers. It was a standard SHIELD-med set and there were always painkillers. They have taken them away. 

He let some water run in his hands and washed his face, wetted one of the washcloths and started to clean the split on his head. There was still blood on it and it hurt when he pressed the wet cloth on it. 

Clint knew he had to clean the other injuries as well. He looked at the tub. It had a shower curtain and he could use a good scrubbing. He left the bathroom to get his spare clothes. He didn't see the glances his teammates threw in his direction. When he was back in the bathroom he wanted to lock the door behind him but it had no key. _Dammit!_ he cursed silently but the idea of getting clean, getting the feeling of Gruber touching him off his body was too tempting and so he stripped but he avoided to look in the mirror. He grabbed his stuff, shower gel and washcloths, and stepped into the tub. He couldn't close the curtain, it was too small to go all around the tub. Clint turned on the spray. The water was cold at first but after a few seconds it warmed up and he let himself soak with the hot water. 

He scrubbed the feeling of the old man's hands on his body off his skin and it hurt but it felt wonderful at the same time. He still avoided to touch his ass, he knew what he would find there. But he also knew he had to at least wipe the blood away. He had felt the tearing when Gruber shoved in and when he scrambled away from him. 

With a sigh he finally started to clean this area when the door opened. Clint turned violently, grabbed the handle to hold himself upright and saw Jones in the door. She looked at him, at the bloody fabric in his hand, at the bruises he had on his hips but then she smirked and went to the first aid kit to fetch something. She didn't close the door properly and Clint leaned against the wall. _Fuck!_

He finished cleaning himself in a few minutes and when he left the tub he searched for the ointment. It was there before he stepped into the shower and now it was gone. Of course, Jones had it. He gritted his teeth and started to dress. 

When he left the bathroom he looked down into the living room beyond him. He saw a bottle with pills and one with the ointment on the dining table. 

“Barton!” Hanson snapped when he saw him and Clint flinched again when he heard his voice. “I want your report in thirty.” 

“Yes, sir.” Clint managed before he closed the door behind him. His heartbeat was again way too fast and adrenaline had flooded his body. With shaking hands he grabbed the forms and started to file in his report.


	6. Chapter 6

“Redo it!” Hanson snarled and glared at Clint. He stood in the living room, his teeth gritted and held himself with an enormous act of willpower to face his superior. Hanson took a look at the report, lifted one brow, laughed and read it to the other team members aloud. They laughed, too. 

“Sir, it's...” Clint started.

“I said, redo it. Your presentation of the incident is wrong.” Hanson captured Clint's eyes with his and saw him twitch and swallow. 

Clint licked over his lips before he spoke again. “Sir, I wrote down...” 

“Bullshit! You forgot to mention that you started to wail, that you fucked it up, that you caused the death of two good agents.” 

“Sir, I already redid it thrice.” 

“Redo it. Now!” Hanson took the sheet of paper and pressed it against Clint's chest while passing by. And Clint scrambled backwards when he touched him, fell over one of the bags and landed on his ass. Panic-stricken he still moved backwards till he hit the wall. 

“God, you're such a freak, Barton.” Hanson shook his head and went back to the couch to flop down. The others looked at him as if he were completely cracked. 

Heavily breathing Clint fled back to the room on the first floor, the report clutched tightly in his fist. 

_Fuck! Fuck, Clint, keep it together!_ he cursed inwardly and wiped his hand over his face. He opened his bottle of water and took a long sip before he sat down on the bed again. 

_What's wrong with you,_ he asked himself and felt the adrenaline leave his system slowly. 

He took the pen and a new form to file in his fourth report but when he saw his hands trembling he leaned back against the wall and pulled his legs up to his body. 

Whenever he closed his eyes he saw Gruber, he could still feel his hands on him and could smell him but he always had Hanson's face and he heard Hanson's voice and it was so fucking twisted. 

He didn't realize that he fell asleep until he got woken by a nightmare. “I'll be good, please, don't hurt me!” he yelled and woke with a start. His heart beat fast and hard against his ribs and he looked around. It took him some time to realize that he wasn't at home with his father or in the orphanage with the keeper or in the jail with his cellmate ore in the hotel with Gruber. 

_Fuck! Get yourself together!_

He looked out of the window. It was dark outside. Probably the others were asleep. Or at least most of them. He filed in his report, for the forth time, and then opened the door. 

He looked over the railing to see only Jones down in the living room. She sat at the couch, a book in her hand and a gun beside her. With a sigh he went to the stairs and descended down to the living room. When Jones heard him she looked up, lifted one eyebrow but when he didn't say anything she just looked back into her book. Clint went to the dining table, put his report down and then went for the kitchen. He wasn't really hungry but he knew that he should eat something. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning and it was nearly two days without food. His stomach twisted in knots when he thought about food but his head said he needed to. But when he opened the fridge and the cupboards there wasn't anything there. That was unusual. Safe houses got stocked when a team should stay there. He closed the door of the fridge and found Jones looking in his direction. She had an unreadable expression on her face. He found a few teabags in one of the cupboards and sniffed at them. They seemed to be okay. He filled the kettle and waited for the water to heat up. In the meantime he looked for a mug and found one. He put the teabag in and added hot water. 

When he left the kitchen with the mug in his hand he found himself still observed by Tamara. He was halfway up the stairs, when she finally broke the silence.

“Barton.” He turned and looked at her and she threw something in his direction. With his reflexes he didn't had a problem to catch it and when he had it she threw another item for him to catch. He looked at them and saw the bottle with painkillers and an energy bar. Wordless she turned back to her book and ignored his presence. 

With his tea, the energy bar and the painkillers he disappeared to his room. He took a sip from the mug and the warmth of the beverage felt good. He took two of the painkillers and hid the bottle, just in case that they would want to take it away and with willpower he forced himself to eat the energy bar. He felt it in his stomach like a stone and he was nauseous but he washed it down with the tea. 

When the mug was empty he put it onto the nightstand and climbed back onto the bunk. He couldn't lock the door and so he just lay there and stared out the window.


	7. Chapter 7

The two days were living hell. Most of his time he stayed in the small room but now and then someone came to bug him. He thought, that could be the main reason why they stashed a good amount of their equipment in this room. So they could come in to bug him.

Hanson demanded another five reports till Clint wrote in, that he flipped out and started to cry and that it was his fault the agents were dead. And of course it was funny for him to read it aloud to the other members. Jones was back to the cold asshole attitude again around the others. Whenever he had to leave the room someone was there. They 'accidentally' shoved him when they had to pass him or when he passed one, whenever he was in the bathroom someone showed up, the painkillers disappeared again. 

Then there were the insults. 

“Fag!”, “Loser!”, “Freak!”, “Cunt!”, “Worthless piece of shit!”. “Murderer”.

But the worst was, that Hanson took advantage of the situation, that he freaked out every time when he talked to him. He never laid hand on him but a few times he cornered him.

“What's up, Barton. Need your daddy to fuck your ass?” he whispered one time into his ear, his body as close up to Clint's as possible but not touching him.

“You've been a bad boy, Barton. Should I bend you over my knee?” 

“You're a loser, a failure, a waste of space.” 

“It's your fault that two of your teammates are dead because you couldn't pull yourself together.”

“Do you want daddy's dick up your ass, Barton? I can give it to you if you beg me.” 

He wanted to lash out. He really wanted to. But whenever Hanson talked to him he was back in the hotel room with hands on his body and pain in his ass and that part of him crawled back into the nearest corner. And the small, still approachable part of him knew to hurt a superior, _this_ superior, would get him into even more trouble than he already was. Not to forget his teammates, who apparently were all on Hanson's side. 

So he tried to stay out of their reach as far as possible. 

When the extraction team finally came to pick them up Clint was a mess. He hadn't slept more than a few hours and every time he fell asleep he soon woke because of nightmares. He hadn't eaten anything but the one energy bar and his head still hurt. 

This morning he found blood in his boxers. The tearing still wasn't healed and he felt like shit, fevery. 

Mercer, one of the two drivers, parked his van in front of the garage and they started to load their stuff into the car. He stared disbelievingly at the two body bags when Clint and Drew carried them out.

“What the fuck happened, Vic?” Mercer asked and Hanson snorted.

“The new guy freaked out and blew the mission to hell. What about the ambassador?” He said and Mercer shook his head.

“Coulson and his team found him yesterday, slain. He's got tortured and then they cut his head off.” 

Clint, who was within earshot paled. 

“That the guy?” Mercer pointed with his chin at Clint when he saw him stare at them.

“Yeah. And because of him McMurdo and Carter are dead.” 

“Fuck!” And the glare, Mercer threw in his direction was murderous. “Damn greenhorns. It's always the same shit with them.” 

Clint went back into the house, stumbled into the bathroom and threw up. When he finally rose, he went to the sink and rinsed his mouth before he drank a few sips of water. 

“Come on, Barton, get your lazy ass down here. Flight is not waiting for you!” Hanson yelled a few minutes later and Clint got his duffel bag and went down. He wanted to get into the car with the team but Hanson just snorted.

“No, you drive with McMurdo and Carter,” he said and grinned maliciously. Clint swallowed and stared at the other van. He had to sit beside the body bags, the rest of the space was crammed with their equipment. And Mercer, the driver, still glared at him viciously. 

“So, you fucked it up.” He said but Clint kept quiet. “You do realize that McMurdo was mother and Carter's girlfriend is pregnant?” 

Clint swallowed, but still didn't say anything. 

“Two children who'll never see their parents. Good work, boy.” Mercer mocked and Clint closed his eyes. _You think I don't know that?_ he thought. 

“It's always the same with you greenhorns. A cocky attitude and you think you can do it and then you fuck the mission up.” The man said and shook his head.

 _I told Hanson that I can not do it! He didn't listen to me._ Clint felt a tear in his eye and wiped it away, carefully to not let Mercer see it. 

“Well, the good thing is, Fury will deal with you and then your career here is finished. They got you out of jail? I guess your buddies there will feel very happy to get you back.” 

_No! Please, anything but that._ He felt again the rush of adrenalin in his veins.

“We're here.” Mercer finally said and Clint looked up to see a Lockheed C130 waiting for them. “Enjoy your flight, boy,” he said and chuckled.


	8. Chapter 8

The flight wasn't the problem. They sat in the back of the plane with their stuff and it was loud there and they had to stay strapped to their seats. The problem was Clint's mind. He sure as hell remembered his time in jail, remembered Edward, his cellmate, remembered the man's hands on him and the stale smell of his breath when he pressed him down on his bunk, remembered the pain and the shame and the humiliation, the helplessness because he was nearly twice his size, he also remembered the AB guys who cornered him a few times, remembered the taunts when he struggled against them. And then he remembered the day the big, black, bald man came to visit him and told him that he could get him out of jail if he was willing to work for them, he remembered the day in his office where he told him that he was hired as sniper and he didn't have to do missions like the one he just fucked up.

He didn't want to go back to jail. He couldn't. If they wanted to get rid of him, fine. But he wouldn't go back to jail. He would never go back to jail. He would fight and run away... or die trying. 

When the plane finally landed on the airfield behind HQ Agent Ruiz was waiting for them. He got the file with their reports from Hanson and sent them to medical. Clint paled. But when he saw Hanson's glare he followed them quietly, his head lowered, and he swallowed hard.

He had enough time to get his stuff to his quarter and to change into clean clothes. With a painful groan he squeezed a tissue between his buttocks to hide the bleeding and stepped into clean boxers. He knew, he usually had to strip only to his undergarments and he didn't want them to see the stains.

He went to the infirmary and most of the others were already waiting there. Hanson was there, too, and he just glared at Clint but the looks he threw in his direction said more than words ever could. 

When a nurse came to bring him to the examination room he gritted his teeth but followed. He had to strip to his boxers and sat down at the examination couch. The doctor, an older man, late fifties, balding and with a mustache, came and looked him over. 

“There was... a fight.” Clint said, when he saw him look at the bruises he had. The doctor just nodded, put on his glasses and gestured for him to lie back. He started to examine him and Clint bit his lips when he felt his hands on him. He found the laceration on his head. 

“Why did no one look after that wound?” He asked and looked at Clint over the rim of his glasses.

“I... the... the certified first responder died during the mission.” He mumbled quietly. 

“There are always two of them. In your team Carter and James.”

“I don't know. Guess I didn't want to... to bug them. I cleaned it myself as far as possible.” With an annoyed sigh the doctor started to clean the wound. Then he tested him for a concussion but he was okay.

“Anything else I should know about?” The doctor asked and lifted one brow when he was done with his head.

Clint swallowed but then he shook his head. The man looked at him for quite some time, his eyes stopped at the bruises he had on his hips, then he sighed and handed him a prescription for painkillers.

“See you tomorrow.” 

“But...” 

“I need to look after your head.” 

“Okay.” 

Clint dressed and left the room and Hanson was still outside. He smiled cruelly in his direction and Clint swallowed again and walked to the other corridor. He had to make a detour to the base intern pharmacy but it was worth it. 

He felt the stares of the other people around him. Apparently they all knew about their failed mission and the two dead agents. He saw them whisper when he passed them but he pretended to not notice. 

“That's the loser?” He heard one guy from R&D before he could enter the pharmacy. _Those guys know jack shit about field work but now they act up as if they knew everything? They sit around the whole day in their labs and play with their toys and the worst that could happen to them is that they run out of coffee._

The guy who handed him his painkillers looked at him with the same accusing stare. He grabbed the bottle and left hastily. He made it back to his quarter without too many encounters and finally he sat at his bunk and thought about what would happen if he would take all of the pills at once. But then he just took two of them and swallowed them dry. 

Tomorrow was the mission debriefing with Fury. Ruiz said that out on the airfield and till then Clint would wait. But he packed all his important stuff into a duffel bag and hid it in one of the vents, not far away from an exit. He knew if they would send him back to jail he needed to get away. He calculated his chances to get out and this route provided the best chances to get out without being seen. 

When he was prepared for a quick disappearance he went back to his quarter. But he got crazy between the walls. He needed to de-stress and his usual way to do this was to go onto the range. 

He went out of the building and jogged to the outdoor range. He didn't look up because he knew what he would see if he would look at the people around. The disappointed glances, the accusing glances, the hateful glances. 

He fetched his bow and a good amount of arrows and went to the stand as far away as possible from the others in use and he took a deep breath before he nocked his first arrow, drew, aimed and then released the arrow. He hit the target but it wasn't bulls eye and Clint gritted his teeth. He tried to empty his mind and concentrated only on the arrow and the target and this time he hit bulls eye and then he shot arrow after arrow and slowly he felt the tension drain out of him and he got into his zone where nothing existed but him, the arrow and the target. His breath was even and his head had stopped to hurt when he suddenly felt an impact and fell down to the floor. 

“You!” a woman yelled at him and he shook his head to clear his mind. “You... you murderer!” She stood over him and kicked him into his kidneys and Clint blocked her foot reflexively. 

“Wha...” he managed before she attacked him again. The range master saw this and came over and a few other agents stood there and looked at the woman. 

“You killed him! It's your fault that Eddie is dead!” She screamed and kicked him again and again and Clint didn't dare to do anything else then to try to block her hits. 

When the range master finally arrived the furious woman had grabbed the gun of one of the agents and aimed at Clint who stared at her wide-eyed. Apparently this was the pregnant girlfriend of Carter. 

Then he saw an other figure arrive. Jones was there, too.

“Marion,” she addressed the woman and the range master stood there and was as shocked as Clint. “Come on, give me that gun. He's not worth it. You don't want to get to jail because of him.” She said and the woman, with tears in her eyes, broke finally down and Jones grabbed her. The range master took the gun, secured and unloaded it before he nodded at Jones. But when he looked at Clint he took his cell and called for a medic. Clint sat there, crouched under the stand, his hands wrapped around his knees and clearly in shock. 

“Tamara, it's his fault that our son will never know his father,” the woman, Marion, cried and sobbed and Jones wrapped her arm around her shoulders to comfort her. 

“What happened here?” Clint heard a new voice. 

“Sir, this woman attacked an agent and tried to shoot him,” the range master said and then Jones chipped in.

“Sir, she's just upset because her fiancé died. She would never shoot at anyone.” 

“I want to see you two in my office tomorrow.” The voice said and then Clint saw the man hunker down and look at him. 

“Would you please come out, agent?” He asked and Clint swallowed.

“I don't go back,” he said and shook his head violently.

“Back where?” The man in the dark suit asked and removed his shades. 

“I don't go back to the jail.” Clint said. 

“Please, come out.” The man said, his voice calm and soothing, and held his hand out. Clint stared suspiciously at him but just as he wanted to crawl out from his hiding spot he saw the medic arrive. 

“No!” Clint yelled and scrambled out all of a sudden, pushed the man in the suit over and tried to run away. Two other agents were quick off the mark and stepped into his escape way and Clint had to turn. He was in full panic mode now and tried to get away. But the other agents, Jones, the range master, the medic and the guy in the suit surrounded him. He stopped for a few seconds, stared at the guy in the suit, and then he attacked the range master and one of the agents. He managed to knock the agent over and just wanted to run when he felt someone hit him from behind. 

It was Jones and she had grabbed his arm and twisted it onto his back and Clint stopped struggling immediately. But when the medic came over to them with a syringe in his hand he started to beg, “Please, don't. I'll be good. Don't hurt me.” The man looked unsure to the guy in his suit and when he nodded the medic leaned down and jabbed the needle into his arm. 

“No, please. Don't do that to me. Please, let me go...” Clint pleaded and stared wide-eyed at the man in his suit. 

“No one is going to hurt you, agent.” The man said and hunkered down beside him. Clint felt the drug hit his system and when he closed his eyes he felt Jones climb off of him and release his arm but he couldn't use this because he finally lost consciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

“You wanted to talk to me, sir?” Phil asked when he entered Fury's office. 

“Yes,” Fury said and threw a folder in Phil's direction. “Read this and tell me what you think.” 

“Hanson again?” Phil asked and when Fury nodded he started to read. And Fury could clearly see his brows rising. 

“That doesn't make sense,” he shook his head when he was done.

“That's what I thought.”

“Those reports are... if you will pardon my saying so... bullshit.” Phil said and Fury leaned back, nodded and sighed. 

“Phil, I want _you_ to find out what really happened. I've recruited Barton myself and I knew from the beginning that he had problems and some kind of attitude but I won't believe that my knowledge of human nature deceived me.” 

“Why did you assign him to Hanson?” 

“He needed a sniper and Barton was available. And as long as AD Lee covers him I can't do anything without proper evidence. Find the goddamn evidence, Phil! I want to get rid of him as soon as possible.” 

“I need all the details. I need his file, the files of his teammates, Hanson's file, the mission reports of all the missions he's been so far, I need the evaluations from his training supervisors, I need all the stuff we have from this mission. And I need all about Hanson's missions. Again.” 

“Granted. Anything else?” 

“I'll let you know, sir.” Phil took the file he already had and left Fury's office. 

He went to his own office on the same floor and sat down at his computer. Before he wanted to go over all the reports and papers he decided to take a look at the new agent himself. He looked in the security system where he could find Barton and his ID was registered right now at the range. 

Phil left the building, took one of the golf carts and drove to the range. He went to the range master and asked where he could find Barton and then the man zoomed in on him with the security camera. Phil watched him shoot arrow after arrow and he saw that he was tense at first but he could watch him go 'into the zone'. He seemed relaxed and at peace with himself. The range master had to leave because one of the agents had a problem but Phil stayed in his office and watched the young man with the bow. 

He just nocked another arrow when a woman ran up to him and yelled at him. She attacked him and he got pulled out of his zone and was confused. That he could defend the attacks was more reflex than decision. Phil left the office and went down to the range and saw the chaos. The range master was there and another agent held the furious woman who still yelled and cried. 

“What happened here?” Phil asked and looked at the agent who held the woman in the uniform of the R&D department. She struggled violently against the grip. And he could see that she was pregnant. 

“Sir, this woman attacked an agent and tried to shoot him,” the range master said and the agent just shook her head and interrupted him.

“Sir, she's just upset because her fiancé died. She would never shoot at anyone.” 

“You so sure about this?” He asked and then Jones had the decency to blush.

“Yes, sir. She's my sister-in-law. I know her.”

Phil looked at the two women and decided he wanted them out of his way right now. 

“I want to see you two in my office tomorrow.” He said and de facto they were dismissed. Phil went to the stand where Barton just hid and hunkered down.

“Would you please come out, agent?” Phil said at looked at him. His eyes were wide and he could see the panic in them. He reminded Phil of a scared and wounded animal. Barton swallowed and his eyes searched for a possible escape.

“I don't go back,” he said and shook his head violently. Phil was confused. 

“Back where?” he asked and removed his shades. He wanted that Barton could see his eyes and that he wasn't a threat.

“I don't go back to the jail.” Barton said and looked terrified right now.

“Please, come out.” Phil held his hand out for him to take and at first he seemed reluctant but finally he wanted to crawl out. But then Phil heard steps behind him and he could see the panic in Barton's eyes again. 

“No!” he yelled and pushed Phil over. He tried to run away but two other agents, who were at the range for their training, stopped him. Phil could see the terror in his eyes and then they started to surround him. Phil wanted to stop them but Barton finally attacked one of the agents and the range master and tried to run but the female agent followed him and knocked him down. But instead of a fight his body went into lockdown and he laid under the woman and didn't move. 

“It's a calmative,” a medic said and showed Phil a syringe and he finally nodded. He would hurt himself if they didn't stop him. 

“Please, don't. I'll be good. Don't hurt me.” Barton started to beg when he saw the man with the syringe approach him. The medic turned and looked at Phil, unsure if he should continue, but Phil nodded once again and the man gave him the shot. 

“No, please. Don't do that to me. Please, let me go...” he pleaded and his voice was barely audible right now.

“No one is going to hurt you, agent.” Phil said and hunkered down beside him. He still saw the fear in his eyes but after a few seconds the drug started to work and he closed his eyes and the agent got off of him. 

“Bring him to infirmary.” Phil said to the medic who nodded and called a colleague to bring a gurney. 

“Sir, I...” the female agent started but Phil quieted her with a gesture. 

“My office. Tomorrow.” He said and turned to go back to his office. He saw another medic with a gurney arrive and Phil nodded at him and showed him the direction. When he climbed into his golf cart he saw the two men strap Barton down on the gurney. Phil sighed. This wouldn't be easy, he thought and drove back to his office.


	10. Chapter 10

When Phil arrived at the infirmary he could hear something that sounded like a fight in one of the rooms. He hurried, opened the door and found two male nurses holding a heavily struggling and screaming Agent Barton, still strapped to the bed, down while a doctor tried to give him another injection. 

“Stop that!” Phil barked and the doctor turned and looked at Phil as if he'd lost his mind. 

“Go away from him.” He gestured at the two guys. 

“But he will hurt himself.” The doctor said and Phil could see the panic-stricken expression on Barton's face. 

“Agent, I know what...” 

“No, you don't.” Phil snapped and the doctor stared at him but then he gestured at the two nurses and they left. 

“Please, don't,” Agent Barton pleaded when Phil approached. He raised his hands for him to see them.

“I won't do anything to you. Please, calm down and I open the ties.” Phil said and when he saw the disbelieving look on his face he took another step forward. “I won't do anything. I'm just going to open this.” He said and pointed at the straps that held his hands tied to the bed. 

“You promise to stay calm?” Phil asked and when Barton finally nodded he opened the leather cuff carefully. Barton followed every move Phil made with his eyes but didn't say a word. But when Phil had opened the second cuff the agent scrambled off of the bed and tried to run but too late he discovered that he went to the wrong side and between him and the door was Phil. He moved to the corner, one hand in a defensive gesture. 

Phil once again showed him his empty hands. 

“I promise I won't do anything to you, Agent Barton.” He said as soothing as possible. Phil noticed, that the nurses had stripped him out of his clothes and put him in a hospital gown. He was still wobbly and leaned heavily against the wall, his eyes searching for an exit. 

“Please, Agent Barton. Clint. You don't have to fear anything from me.” He said and Barton slid down to the floor and sat in the corner. 

Phil hunkered down but still in a distance that seemed comfortable for him. 

“My Name is Phil Coulson.” He said and smiled.

“Another son.” The young man snorted and he could hear bitterness in his voice. 

“What do you mean, another son?” Phil asked carefully. 

“Pier _son_ , John _son_ , Jack _son_ , Tronde _son_ , Han _son_ , Coul _son_.” He said and stared at Phil with an unreadable expression. 

But Phil knew those names. He had read his file. Carl Pierson was one of the keepers in the orphanage they had brought him after his parents death. He'd been sentenced for child molestation two years after Barton disappeared. Tom Johnson was the name of an artist in 'Carson's carnival of traveling wonders', a sword-swallower and fire-breather. He was found dead last year, someone bashed his head in. Arnold Jackson, Sergeant in the Army unit he was in. Killed in action, two years ago. Edward Trondeson. His cellmate during the time he was in jail. Victor Hanson, SHIELD-handler. 

“You can call me Phil if you don't like my last name.” Phil said and once again smiled at him. Barton looked at him and he felt himself thoroughly examined by his intense eyes. 

“Director Fury sent me. He has read the reports of your last mission.” Phil saw him swallow hard and searching again for an exit. “They sound a lot like bullshit. His words, not mine. And I agree with him.” Phil added when Barton snorted again. 

“I... I had to write it... I don't know... ten times.” He said quietly and swallowed. 

“Yes, that's what I thought. Do you want to tell me the truth?” 

“I... I can't. He said... he said then... I don't want to go back to jail.” Barton looked at him and he could clearly see the fear in his eyes. 

“Who said you have to go back to jail?” Phil asked and cocked his head.

“Han... Hanson said...” He started and licked his lips and Phil could see him nervous and searching for an exit.

“Shh... calm. Director Fury sent _me_ to find out the truth. Agent Hanson can't send you back to jail. Only Director Fury could and he doesn't want you in jail. _We_ don't want you in jail. We want you with us, with SHIELD.” 

“But... but he said when...” He stammered and his voice hitched.

“Please, Clint.” Phil used his first name on purpose, he hoped that it would calm him down. He still sat in the corner, tight as a bowstring and would use the first chance to flee. “No one wants to send you back to jail. I promise. You're safe. I give you my word.” Once again he found himself looked up by those sharp, hawk-like eyes but apparently Barton saw no threat in him and finally slumped down. Phil approached him and sat down at his side, carefully and not touching him. 

“Please, Clint. What happened.” 

He was quiet for a few minutes, just sat there and stared at his fingers.

“I told him I can't do this. I told him. I said, the Director promised me that I don't have to do something like this and he said he didn't care. He said, since he's my superior I have to do what he says and it doesn't matter what the Director said because he's not here. He said he'll file another written warning and it would be the second one in a month and then they would send me back to jail. I told him, that I can't do this but he didn't listen to me. And then I did it nevertheless, because...” Phil felt Barton tremble violently beside him and carefully he slid to his side till his arm touched Clint's shoulders. At first he got stiff but when he sensed that nothing bad would happen he continued to talk. “Gruber was touchy-feely and he... and he... his hands... everywhere...” He broke down and started to sob and Phil pulled him over slightly and then Barton let loose, he cried on Phil's shoulder and all Phil did was being there and hold him. “His voice in my ear and the hands on me... and it hurt... oh god, it hurt... everything hurt and he said freak... daddy called me freak... and worthless...” 

“Shh... it's okay. He's not here anymore.” Phil murmured quietly. “No one will hurt you. I promise.” He said and carefully hid the wrath in his guts. Phil had read Barton's file and it was there. It was known that he got raped multiple times, by his father, by the keepers in orphanage, by one of the other performers at circus, by one of his comrades in the military, by his cellmate. And then Hanson forced him to go in and seduce a mark. No one who's right in the head would have sent him on a honeypot mission. 

Phil waited till Barton calmed down again. “You okay?” He finally asked and he nodded. 

“Please, stay here. Don't try to run away. No one will hurt you anymore. I promise you that. Stay, you are still injured. I'll deal with Hanson.” And Barton nodded once again.

“Okay.” He murmured and Phil rose. He held out his hand to help him up and after a second of hesitation he took it. Phil led him back to the bed but he removed the cuffs that had held him.

“You stay here?” He asked again and looked in Barton's eyes and he nodded again. 

“Yes, I stay.” Phil smiled and then Barton climbed onto the bed, but he could see that he still felt queasy. 

“No one will hurt you.” Phil reassured him for the umpteenth time. And with a smile he left the room.

He went to the doctor. 

“Doctor Ledger.” He read at his name tag. “No one will enter this room except you and me. And Director Fury. You won't do anything to the patient he doesn't want to and if you have to do something, you tell him. Am I clear?” 

The doctor pursed his lips but then nodded. “Okay.” But when Phil wanted to go the doctor called him back. “Agent Coulson?” Phil turned once again and looked at the doctor expectantly. 

“When we examined him we found something in his boxers.” He went to his office and showed Phil a bloody tissue in a plastic bag. Phil breathed angry through his nose and squeezed his lips shut. 

“Talk to him if you have to do something. Explain it and be careful. And maybe we can send a psychologist to him. But for starters, don't do anything he doesn't want to.” 

The doctor nodded and Phil took the tissue in the plastic bag. He would have to talk to Hanson and it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation... for Hanson.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning Phil started to talk to Hanson's team, Aldrich James, Tamara Jones, Matt Corrigan and Peter Drew. But everyone told him the same story. Agent Barton volunteered, no, demanded to get the assignment, he needed all of Hanson's help while he was in because he made mistakes from the beginning and then he flipped out and the rest of the team had to take over. He couldn't find out in time what Gruber and his guys intended to do. Gruber himself got shot because Agent Barton acted as if he was born yesterday and Gruber found out that he was a spy and he was prepared when they came in. Gruber killed McMurdo and Carter got shot from Fischer on their retreat. Unfortunately McMurdo was their tech and no one else could handle her system and the recording got lost. Back in the safe house Agent Barton refused medical care, he said he would handle it himself and told no one if and where he was injured. 

Phil made notes, asked some questions but it always came to the same thing. It was Agent Barton's fault that the mission went down the drain. He compared his notes. Everyone of them used the same words to describe certain things. It was always 'Agent Barton volunteered, no, demanded to get the assignment'. No one would use the same sentences unless it's arranged. Phil sighed. He only had to talk to Hanson now but first he needed some caffeine. He left his office and wanted to go to the kitchenette on their floor when he heard someone talk inside. He waited with his mug in his hand and listened. 

“... two good agents dead because of him.” Aldrich James.

“Yeah. If they can't keep it together they are wrong in this job.” Daniela Feige. 

“I feel sorry for the children, who never get to know their parents.” Jasper Sitwell.

“It shouldn't be too difficult to distract an old, horny buck.” Elsa Ramirez. 

“He shouldn't have demanded to get the job if he can't do it.” Jack Martin.

Phil couldn't listen any longer. He stepped into the kitchenette and the Agents stopped talking immediately and at least Sitwell and Ramirez had the decency to blush. 

“You know what's really disappointing?” Phil started and went to the coffee maker to refill his mug. “That you, experienced agents, are sitting here gossiping like school girls on the playground.” 

Phil turned and looked at the agents. 

“James, remember your first mission in Barcelona? They had to extract you, crying like a baby. And we lost a jet and the pilot both his legs. Feige, remember Chicago. The mark escaped and set a whole block on fire. Sitwell, how was your mission in Mexico City? What happened to the drug lord? What happened to your partner Jameson? Ramirez, Tokio. Martin, Samarkand.” They looked embarrassed. 

“You judge that boy despite you all know that _you_ fucked up missions as well. I do realize that two Agents died and it's a tragedy because they both have or going to have children. But they knew the risk. They signed the same contract as you did and as I did. We all are field Agents and whenever we go out on a mission there is the risk of getting hurt or shot. We all know this and Carter and McMurdo both knew that as well. You say he couldn't keep it together? He's twenty two years old and already went through more shit in his life than all of you five together and given that fact he keeps it together pretty well _and_ came out third best agent in his grade. But when an agent is sent on an assignment he's not trained for by a handler who should know better...” Phil shook his head and stirred sugar into his coffee. The looks the five agents shared said more than words. Phil looked at his watch. “I need to go to talk to Hanson. If you know what's good for you, then you better stop to tattle and go back to your job. As long as you still have it. James, my office, 2 pm.” 

“But, sir...” He started.

“Yes, I know you've already been there but your stories are holey like swiss cheese. You can call the rest of your team as well. I want all of you in my office. 2 pm. And now I have to talk to Hanson.” 

He grabbed his mug and left the kitchenette and he heard them get up as well.

Hanson was already there when he came back and waited in front of his office.

“Sorry, it took a litte bit longer.” Phil smiled his usual polite smile and opened the door. He gestured for Hanson to take a seat and sat down behind his desk. 

“Okay, Agent Hanson. Director Fury wants to know what happend that day in the hotel.” 

Hanson started to talk and he told him the same story all of the other teammembers did. With the same words. Phil leaned back in his chair, his mug in his hands and listened and when Hanson was done he directed his gaze on him. 

“Do you think I'm an idiot, Agent Hanson?” Phil asked him and took a sip of his mug. Hanson stared at him with squinted eyes. 

“No, of course not.” He finally said after a few seconds of quietness. 

“Then why do you think you can treat me like an idiot?” 

“I don't...” he started but now Phil put his mug onto his table, directed his gaze on Hanson and smiled that tiny little smile that had made warlords cry. He took his notes from the other teammembers testimonies and read them aloud and when he was done he looked again at Hanson and lifted one brow. 

“This, Agent Hanson, is rubbish.” He said, gestured at the reports and his notes and took another sip of his coffee. 

“What...” 

“You arranged your statements and that tells me that you try to cover something. Fortunately SHIELD has a few of the best techs on their payroll and they could reconstruct the _lost_ recordings. It seemed, someone tried to erase them but apparently he was a dilletant. The techs could easily reconstruct the recordings and I've heard what really happened, Agent Hanson.” Phil smiled when the other man paled. 

“How long do you have your own team now?” He asked. He knew the answer, he just wanted Hanson to say it. 

“Seven years, five months.” 

“So you do know your responsibilities as handler, I assume.” 

“Damn right, I...” He started but Phil interrupted him with a gesture with his index finger and Hanson stopped immediately. Phil handed him a sheet of paper.

“Can you read this?” Hanson looked at it and started to read. “Aloud please.” It was the part of their contracts where they had to sign that they knew about the risks of field work and the possibility to get hurt or worse during a mision. 

“What is that crap?” He asked, angry now.

“Read it.” Phil said now with venom in his voice and the other man read the passage aloud.

“So. You say, you know your responsibilities as handler, you can read, you had Agent Barton's file and his contract, you knew what he's trained for and nevertheless you forced him into an assignment he's _not_ trained for _and_ he had the guarantee from Director Fury that he never had to do something like that.”

“I didn't force him, he wanted...” Hanson interrupted him and now Phil got really angry.

“Really? You still want to tell me Barton _wanted_ to get thrown into this shit? I've heard what happened, _Agent_ Hanson. Remember? We have the recordings and we have the videos from CCTV. He didn't seemed to be overly excited to be there. And since when is it the job of a handler to insult an agent during a mission over the comms?” 

“He's just a spoiled...” Hanson tried again and once again he got interrupted by Phil.

“Agent Barton is an excellent sniper, he's currently one of the five best snipers in the world. _That's_ what he's been hired for. You had his file and it's there in black and white that he's _not_ an undercover Agent, he's _not_ trained for this kind of missions _and!!_... and that's the worst part... _you_ , Agent Hanson, broke Director Fury's promises.” Phil smiled again and Hanson paled even more. 

“There's one thing Director Fury really doesn't like, Agent Hanson. When someone else breaks his promises.” 

“I've never wanted to...” 

“Really? You didn't try since two years to get the most prestigious missions and finish them come hell or high water with no second thought about the agents you lose on your way? And you've lost quite a few. You didn't want to get the job as Assistant Director when Lee will retire next year regardless of the consequences? This time your buddies Lee and Mercer can't cover your shit. This fucked up mission was the last straw...”

“But _I_ didn't fuck it up, it was Barton who...” 

“ _You_ are the team leader! _You_ are your Agents handler. _You_ are responsible for the whole mission whether it's successful or a failure. All this is on _you_.”

“You can't do that, Agent Coulson. You are...” He spat but then he startled when he heard a voice behind him. 

“But I can.” It was Director Fury and he seemed really pissed. “Your status as handler is nullified. Your team will be downgraded and assigned to other handlers. Your status as active field agent is nullified. We have an administrative post in our base in Anchorage for you. Your status as senior agent is nullified. You start again as junior agent, Level three. AD Lee heard about this and saw the evidence and dissociated himself from you. This time he won't cover you. Your contract lasts for another five years and we won't accept your termination. If you just leave we sue you and we have the better lawyers. So... have fun in Alaska.” 

Hansons stared at the two men and had murder written in his eyes. But then he just turned, left the office and slammed the door behind him. Fury sighed and Phil leaned back in his chair.

“It's not over yet. He won't let a matter rest.” He said.

“I know. What do we do with Barton?” Fury asked and looked at Phil. “He's... thrown off the tracks.” 

“I want him. I can... I can get him back in line.” Phil said and Fury eyed him up but then he nodded.

“He's all yours. What about Hanson's team?” 

“They will be here in a few. I'll tell them that they all downgrade and are assigned to different other handlers all around the world, in some really nice countries.” 

“Where they still honor human rights.” He chuckled evilly, then added, “Good job, Phil.” Fury smiled and left his office. Phil picked up the papers on his desk. He knew that it would be a tough job waiting for him but he was sure that it would be worth it.


	12. Chapter 12

When Clint woke this time he felt better. His head didn't hurt too much and even the constant pain in his ass was nearly gone. It was extremly embarrassing to let the doctor take a look and he nearly freaked out twice but whenever he felt uncomfortable, the man stopped immediately and waited for him till he gave his okay to continue. He thought about running away but he knew that SHIELD has the people and the ressources to find him and then he would go back to jail. And on the other hand, he gave this Coulson guy... Phil... his word to not run away and it was odd but the man had something on himself that Clint thought he could trust him. Maybe it was his calm manner and his kind eyes but Clint was sure that he wouldn't hurt him.  


One of the nurses brought him a few magazines and he took one and started to page through it when he heard the door. It was Coulson.

“How do you feel?” He asked when he took the chair, put it beside the bed and sat down. Clint closed the magazine and placed it back on the nightstand.

“Better.” He said and looked at Coulson. 

“Don't worry, we've dealt with Agent Hanson. He well be transfered to another base.”

“Why?”

“Because it's the worse punishment. It's a... nasty assignment.” Coulson smiled.

“What about the others?” He asked warily.

“They know what happened to Hanson and they will not be able to lay hand on you.”

“But they are experienced agents and I'm just a rookie. Don't you think...” 

“No. It wouldn't have come so far but Hanson... he tried to push his career with brute force. You are not the first Agent to get the short end of the stick. He had his core team and every new Agent Director Fury assigned to him was burned for his goals. We couldn't prove it so far because he had a lot of friends, some in high positions, who coverd him but this time he made a mistake and we could prove it. This time we got him. Thanks to you.”

“What happenes to me now? Do I have to...” Clint started and swallowed.

“No. You are assigned to me. I'm your handler now.” 

Clint looked at him questioningly. 

“I want you as sniper and field agent. If I need someone to seduce a mark, I use an Agent trained for this kind of assignment.” Coulson added and he was relieved. Somehow Clint knew that he didn't lie about this. 

“Okay. I have to go back to work. Do you need anything?” He asked and then Clint looked at the magazines at the nightstand. 

“Something different to read than Us weekly or National Enquirer would be nice,” he said and smiled a little bit. 

“Any preferences?” 

“I don't care. As long as it's not about celebrities or clothes.” Coulson had to laugh at the comment and then he cocked his head and smiled. 

“I have something. I'll be right back.” He left and now a tiny smile formed at Clint's lips.

He leaned back and paged through the next magazine on the pile when he heard the door again. He looked up and expected to see Coulson or the doctor but it was Hanson. 

“So, you hide behind Coulson now,” the man said and strolled into the room. Clint's breath sped up and he put the magazine away to have his hands free, just in case.

“I don't hide anywhere.” He said warily and never let Hanson out of his sight for a second.

“It's his plan, isn't it? To get me out of the way so he can get the job as Assistant Director. He sent you to destroy my reputation, my career.” 

“That's bullshit. I've never met Phil before.” Clint spat and realized that he made a huge mistake the moment he had said it. 

“Really? And that's why you're on a first-name basis with him?” 

“No! That's... it's...” 

“He assigned you to my team to betray me.” _Stop! Don't say it, please, don't say it!_ Clint pleaeded inwardly. Hanson's voice and those words were a combination he barely could bear.

“No, that's not true. Yesterday I've met him for the first time, he...” 

“You're a traitor, Barton. A filthy liar and impostor.” 

And once again Clint's brain threw him back into one of his bad memories. _You're a liar, Clint. You betrayed me. You're a traitor!_ He felt once again the searing pain of the knife carving through his skin and tearing his intestines, saw the hateful, disgusted glance of his brother, felt the blood, his own blood, run over his hands. 

“No! Don't...” Clint pleaded, halfways caught in the memories. 

“You're just a worthless piece of shit, I knew that the moment they gave me your file.” 

_Daddy was right, Clint. You're just a worthless piece of shit. And you deserve to kick the bucket, traitor._

“I should've let the old bastard rip you apart, traitor.” Hanson spat and Clint finally snapped, lunged forward and threw himself on him. He was taken by surprise, he never expected Clint to lash out, not after the panic attacks he had at the safe house. When he got knocked down he started to defend himself. But Clint already sat on his chest and choked him with both hands and Hanson scratched over his arms and tried to get rid of him. 

“No, Barney! This time you won't get me!” He spat and then he heard a voice behind him but he didn't stop choking the man under him. 

When he felt hands around his chest trying to haul him off he screamed out his rage and lashed out wildly. 

“Stop! Clint! Stop! This is not your brother! Please, calm down!” He realized, that someone yelled at him and finally he felt all the rage drain out of him at once and he slumped down and when the man who held him let go of him he scrambled to the corner and wrapped his arms around his legs. He felt tears streaming over his face and couldn't repress the sobbing. 

Hanson lay on the floor in the middle of the room, heavily gasping for air and two male nurses came in with a gurney. 

Clint sat in the corner and watched them when he saw the face of Agent Coulson appear in his vision. 

“Hey... Clint.” He said, his voice low and calming and he smiled at him. “You okay?” Coulson asked and after a few seconds Clint finally nodded. 

“I could feel it.” He just said and when he saw the puzzled look on Coulson's face he added, “The knife. It was as if he stabbed me again. I could feel it.” He placed his hand over his stomach where he knew the scar was.

“Your brother?” Coulson asked and Clint nodded. 

“He was right. I betrayed him.” 

“Clint...” Coulson sat down beside him like last time. Just sat beside him and when he felt him getting comfortable with it he laid his arm around his shoulders. Clint could feel himself relax slightly. 

“He was right. I called the cops. He and Buck... they had a bomb, they wanted to kill hundreds of people. I... I couldn't let them do this. I called the cops and he attacked me, stabbed me and I shot him. I deserved to go to jail. I'm a worthless traitor. I killed my own brother.”

“No. You are not a traitor. You've done the right thing. Your brother was a traitor, he wanted to kill you. And Hanson is a traitor. He was your handler and should've known to not send you on an assignment you're not trained for. They betrayed you. You've done nothing wrong.” 

“What happens to him now?” Clint looked at the older man and he saw him sigh.

“It's up to Director Fury but I guess the administrative post in Alaska is cancelled and his next performance will be in jail. I've heard your former cellmate feels a little bit lonely since you moved out.” 

Clint stayed quiet, just looked at the older man beside him, who finally cleared his throat, got up from the floor and held his hand out to help Clint up. When he smiled Clint took the hand and let himself be dragged up. 

“Come on, back to bed. It's a little bit more comfortable than the floor. And I have something to read for you.” 

When Clint sat down on the bed he saw Coulson pick up an old, tattered, well-worn paperback book from the floor and handed it to him.

“Sherlock Holmes. A study in scarlett. Really?” He looked disbelievingly and Coulson grinned. 

“It's good. You'll like it.” 

And now Clint couldn't repress a tiny smile. “We'll see,” he said. 

Coulson nodded, smiled as well and turned to leave. When he had his hand on the doorknob Clint stopped him.

“Phil?” 

“Yes?” the older man turned his head.

“Thank you.” 

“You're welcome.”


	13. Chapter 13

**4 years later**

“Phil, do you trust me?” Phil heard Hawkeye's voice over the comms.

“What kind of question is that?” Phil asked and wanted to add that this is not something they should talk about during a mission in an open channel.

“Right, you lent me 'a study in scarlett'.” Clint added and Phil looked at the rest of the team but no one looked in his direction. 

“Radio silence, Hawkeye.” He said and then switched to the private channel.

“What's the problem, Clint.” He murmured and walked out of earshot from the others. 

“You do trust me, don't you?” Clint asked once again. 

“How long am I your handler now? Was there a situation where I didn't trust you?” Phil counter asked.

“Four years, but this... this is different.”

“Why. It's a simple mission, Clint. You have the mark and now you take the shot.” 

“Phil, please. Can you come down?” 

“Where are you.” Phil sighed and looked at the rest of team once again.

“In the alleyway behind the barber's shop.” 

“Stay put, I'll be there in a few.” Phil switched back to the open channel.

“Something happening?” He asked and Mason looked at him and shook his head. Phil sighed. 

“Okay, I'll be back in a few. You can handle this?” And Mason nodded.

Phil left the room above the bakery and went down the stairs. He turned left and already saw the barber's shop sign. When he went around the corner and stepped into the dark alleyway he could hear steps but then he saw Clint.

“What's the problem. You sounded really strange right now.” Phil asked when he saw the nervousness in his posture.

“You do trust me?” He asked once again and Phil nodded and took his hand. 

“Clint, you _know_ that I trust you.” He cupped his face with his hand and felt that he was tense like a bowstring. 

“You okay?” Phil cocked his head and then Clint nodded. 

Clint leaned forward, into Phil's personal space and stole a quick kiss.

“I know you trusted me even when you didn't knew me, when I was just the damaged wreck Hanson left behind, I know you trusted me when I got part of your team, I know you trusted me when I asked you out the first time and I know you still trust me when I change mission directives to make it work better, but Phil, this is important. Do you utterly trust me, my knowledge of human nature and my judgment?” 

“Clint, darling, you worry me.” Phil said and looked at Clint warily. 

“Please, Phil...” 

“Yes. Yes, of course I trust you. I know that your knowledge of human nature and your judgment has always been correct. But...” Phil said and then he stopped when Clint turned, moved into the shadows and came back a few seconds later with a young, red-haired woman in tow.

“Phil, this is Natasha. You know her as the 'Black Widow'.” Clint said and Phil felt himself eyed up carefully.

“Clint, you should...” He started but got interrupted by him.

“I know. But we talked, Phil. And she's willing to hand herself over to us, to work for us. Hon är trött på att vara på flykt.” The woman stared at him when he switched to Swedish. “Please, Phil. Trust me.” 

Phil looked at the two of them, saw the tension in the young woman's appearance and the readiness to run if necessary but when he looked at Clint he finally nodded. He was right. He trusted his judgment. 

“Okay. I call Fury and... you two stay put. There's... there's a cafe down that street,” Phil gestured in the direction. “Go there and wait for me.” And when he saw Clint smile he muttered, “Grandpa Olof would hit you on the head for your pronunciation.” 

“Love you, too.” Clint's smile turned into a smirk and then he left with the Russian behind him. Sighing Phil took his cell and dialed Fury's number. 

“Director... no... Nick. I... Hawkeye changed the mission objectives again. What do you think about recruiting the Black Widow instead of killing her?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> \- She is tired of being on the run.
> 
>  
> 
> So... finished. And now I go hiding under my bed and await the blistering criticism. ;)  
> Thanks for reading, commenting, cursing and the kudos. I hope you enjoyed the story.
> 
>  
> 
> The prompt on avengerkink: [Clint/OMC - Clint's handler forces him to have sex with a mark. Noncon, victim-blaming, violence](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16524.html?thread=37868684#t37868684)
> 
> You may note some similarities here to another fill which didn't QUITE hit my kinks:
> 
> As a new agent, Clint gets a handler who hates him. On an undercover mission, the handler forces Clint to have sex with his mark in order to fulfill mission objectives. Clint protests vehemently, points out there's a note in his file which says he can't do that and that if he does he'll break cover. His handler threatens him until he goes through with it.
> 
> Clint keeps it together pretty well through dint of great effort, even while his handler is talking to him during the act (no dirty talk please, but round-about innuendos and insults are gold) until the man says something which triggers a flashback. Clint has a breakdown, breaks cover and the whole mission turns into a clusterfuck. His handler's shouting at him, Clint's unable to do anything productive while freaking out, they have to send agents in to get him (one or more of which are killed in the process) and they don't achieve their objectives at all.
> 
> The remainder of the team has to hole up in a safe house for a few days until extraction. Clint's still freaking out because his handler was talking to him through the rape and his mind has therefore decided that his handler was the aggressor in the scenario. His handler and his team spend the whole few days blaming him for what happened (including refusing him medical care or being unneccessarily rough, and being verbally aggressive). They blame him in their reports when they get back to SHIELD and it gets around pretty quickly that Agent Clint Barton got people killed. Meanwhile, he's still suffering so much PTSD that he's unable to function, let alone defend himself.
> 
> When Clint's recovered enough to talk to anyone about it they send in Coulson, who figures out what happened, kicks ass and becomes Clint's new handler.
> 
> +1 if Clint and Coulson had never met before

**Author's Note:**

> [asamandra on tumblr](http://asamandra.tumblr.com/)


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